


Holes

by lifeinwords



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeinwords/pseuds/lifeinwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment during war. (Written post-GoF)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holes

The wand skidded and bounced across the cobbled floor, coming to a stop as it struck the bars.

"Shite, now look what you've done. I'll kick it over to you, and then you can try again."

"I can't." He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. It was tacky with sweat and dirt, and he could feel bits of dust and grime falling away under his fingernails. He scratched harder.

"What do you mean, you can't?"

The voice had turned angry rather than just irritable, and Harry squinted across the gloom until he saw a face in the opposite cell. The man was pale underneath all the dirt, and his clothes were black. Harry thought his hair was blonde or even white, but it had so many streaks of red and brown sticking it down that he couldn't tell. He'd stood up, and was now glaring menacingly over at Harry, hands straining at the bars to keep him upright.

"I just can't. It doesn't work anymore."

"That's. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. There you are, with all your parts working and a bloody wand, and you're still sitting in here. More importantly, I'm still sitting in here. It's not broken, you haven't forgotten how to say 'Alohomora,' so pick up the wand and get us out of here!"

"Oh, I forgot. You wouldn't know. You were asleep when I got here."

"Unconscious, you mean. And I'm getting tired of that, so hurry up!"

Harry began cleaning his fingernails on his teeth. There was a trace of blood underneath the nails on his right hand, but not on his left. There were dark spots on his robe, too, drips from the dried ribbon down his neck and shoulder.

The other man grunted and started lowering himself back to the floor. His feet slipped on the damp stones, and Harry heard a whine of pain as the figure landed hard.

"Look, I'd do it myself, but your wand would likely take my hand off, or turn me inside out."

"Do you think so?" Harry looked away from his nails. "Would all of your parts just...just  
fall out, without skin to hold them in?"

"That's not the point, you stupid fool. The point is that you have a wand! They didn't take it when they stuck you in here. So stop this fucking pondering and do what you're supposed to!"

"What's that?" Harry thought maybe wasn't so angry because he hadn't been here as long. He hadn't even been unconscious yet. He wondered if that hurt much.

"Save us! Open the doors, curse the guards who are probably upstairs, then get us outside so we can Apparate as far away as possible. Maybe take out the Dark Lord if you have a spare minute. God damn it, Potter, what's wrong with you?"

The man sounded really upset that he wasn't doing something. He should probably go over and try again, even though it was, what was the word...embarrassing. He knew it was supposed to work. Things were supposed to happen.

He sighed and stood up, ignoring the dark mutter of "Finally" from across the way. He walked slowly over to the wand on the ground, then bent down and stretched his arm across the floor. It had struck the bars and spun almost out of reach, but Harry grunted and pressed closer, scrabbling for the narrow pointed end, and grabbed it. His hand was sweaty and almost dropped it twice, but finally he was standing up, absently dusting off his knees and chest as he rose. The wand was dirty too, and stickier than sweat would've made it, but Harry didn't think it would matter.

"What are you waiting for? Do I need to remind you why we're here? Death, dismemberment, Dark rituals? If I didn't know better, I'd..." The voice trailed off. His fingers were turning a dull red-brown where he held it, and Harry watched the wand roll between his palms. Darker than the dirt, but lighter than under his nails.

"It's hot down here. Do you think that's strange? I don't think it's supposed to be hot, underground. With no windows and all. Or this dusty." He looked up, startled, at a low rhythmic banging. It sounded thick but hollow, like emptied pewter mugs slammed on a table. The figure was moving his body back and forth in a jerking way: forehead into the bar in front of him, then back to glare at Harry.

"Sorry. I just don't want to disappoint you. And I thought it was supposed to be colder. Scarier."

"I'm bleeding out of my nose and my arsehole, Potter, every time I breathe or move. Just a little, but I think the shooting pains in my lungs and lower back are hints that I might pass out and choke to death in the next few hours. That's pretty fucking scary to me."

"Oh. I'm...I'm sorry. I'll stop thinking about it. It's probably not helping, anyway. Sorry." Harry pointed his arm out straight in front of him, wand aimed at the door like a flashlight.

"No need to apologize." The man coughed wetly and spit a runny red wad through the bars. "I'll just knock myself out again, and when I wake up, I'll either be dead or safe at Hogwarts. No need to alter your plans on my account." His voice was less angry now, hoarser, and thick with blood. He didn't start the banging yet, though.

Harry spread his feet shoulder-width apart and relaxed his knees. He took a deep breath and stared fixedly at the iron cell door. It was flaking with red rust, too. He was going to make the door open. He was.

"What..." He swallowed. Tried again, pushing with his mind and eyes and that space inside of him where things worked. "Open." Nothing but another sound from the man across from him. Something like a sob.

"Oh, I remember. Al--alo--alohamora. That's what you said, right? Alohamora! Alohamora!" He shook the wand at the door, but it was just like a stick you picked up off the ground and  
pretended did magic. No good at all.

"Potter?" A low whisper. "Oh, god. What did they do to you?"

Harry flung the stick away from him. It skittered across the cell, almost getting trapped by the bars near the door, then bounced until it landed in a deep crack between some of the stones halfway between the cells. He couldn't reach that far again, he didn't think. Maybe the other one could.

"I don't feel different, and I'm not bleeding. Anymore. But it doesn't work, and I know it's supposed to...it's supposed to work." Now his voice was thick, and he was blinking hard to keep his eyes from going all blurry.

"Calm down. Just calm down. We'll figure it out, and you'll be fine. You're Harry Potter; of course we'll be all right. They won't be down for a few hours. We have time." The man was talking fast, now, and his voice was soothing. Harry shook his head and scraped his nails over his cheeks again. It stung this time, and there was another thick red line under the nails when he pulled them to his mouth for cleaning.

"I remember a word. Two. Maybe it will help. I think so. I think they're, they're strong words."

"What words, Potter?" The man struggled to his knees and pressed his face between the bars. He stared fixedly at Harry. "Are they Latin? Foreign? Do they bring things to you? Because I don't think I can reach your wand."

"The shiny man said it. He waved at me, and it hurt my eyes. I was falling, and I couldn't breathe, and he wasn't talking to me anyway. He was saying it to somebody else. He could've been shiny, too, but I couldn't see him."

"What, Potter? Please, concentrate for a minute and tell me what he said! Remember!"

Harry swallowed again and pointed his hand at the door. His finger didn't look nearly as impressive as the wand, but he was trying. The man wanted him to try, so he would. He took a deep breath and pushed.

"Lobus tomia."

**Author's Note:**

> Lobus tomia - the Greco-Latin roots for lobotomy. Lobus-lobe or rounded projection. Tomo-that which is cut off.


End file.
